


Misunderstandings

by ClarenceJ



Series: Misunderstandings [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Caring John Watson, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mistakes, Misunderstandings, mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:28:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22312516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClarenceJ/pseuds/ClarenceJ
Summary: From the imagine: Imagine John Watson seeing you on a roof thinking you're going to jump off, but it all ends up being a huge misunderstanding.**No actual suicide in this story**
Relationships: John Watson & Reader, John Watson/Original Female Character(s), John Watson/You
Series: Misunderstandings [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1697947
Kudos: 69





	Misunderstandings

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this piece that I wrote instead of sleeping. It's my first Sherlock fic so let me know what you think with comments and kudos! Thanks again! (And let me know if this should be continued with another chapter)

You never quite got used to it even after being here for nearly three months. London is so beautiful from up here it just takes your breath away. All of the lights of the buildings and apartments are nearly magical. You’ve found that your super leaves the rooftop door unlocked, allowing you a perfect view of part of the city and your own little place to hide when you need to quiet your brain. That’s what you're doing tonight as well until you went to take a picture. As you went to pull out your phone, one of your leather gloves slips out of your pocket, plummeting to the alley beneath you.

_‘Shit!’_ you yell in your head and you groan out loud. _‘Those were expensive!’_ You look to see where it’s fallen only to give another groan as you realize it’s in a blocked off alley with large fences on either opening. _‘I’ll never be able to get down there.’_ You’re so caught up standing at the edge of the wall looking at the ground, lamenting your lost glove, you don’t even notice a man speed-walking toward your building looking up at you from the side street.

“Miss? Excuse me, miss!” The sound catches you off guard so you stumble backward a little. “Are you alright?” a man calls to you from the ground. He seems upset for some reason but you can’t think of a reason why. _‘Maybe he had a bad day too’_ you guess. Now, you’re mostly bummed out about your glove as you look down.

He’s right though. You should get down soon because it might rain and you have work you need to get done, but the view and your glove still beckon you to stay for a few minutes more to pity its loneliness in the alley. “Not really. It’s no bother though, I’ll be gone soon. There’s no reason to call the cops or anything,” you try to assure him, leaving the part about you living there to hang on the end of the sentence silently. You wonder if he really will call the cops on you for being on the roof, but you don't have more time to think on it because your answer seems to upset him more.

He raises his arms to make a halting motion at you. “Please don’t move!” he practically squeals but you can tell he’s trying to calm down. “Stay right there for another moment! Don’t move!” he calls to you from the ground before he disappears from sight and presumably into the building you are currently standing on. _'Huh. Weird.'_

“Alright weirdo, where the fuck else would I go?” you gripe sarcastically but look back on the ground at your expensive glove that seemed so sad on the wet pavement. It’s as if it’s taunting you by being right in your sight but extremely out of reach. Soon enough you hear panting behind the stairwell door then the creak of it opening.

You’re surprised when you can see him clearly in front of you. You couldn’t see him that well from the ground but he’s not what you were expecting. He’s 5’7”, greying hair, strong posture, slim build, but sad eyes. All of the confidence that his posture might give off is negated by the fact he has worry yet determination in those grey orbs. _‘I’m not scary, am I?’_ you wonder internally but your thoughts get cut off as he begins to speak.

“I know what you're thinking and you don't have to. I know you don’t have to do this and there's another way,” he pants, trying to regain his breath. You like his voice. It’s not too deep but it’s not too high and whiney. It’s got an odd cadence to it that you’ve come to recognize as something only the English have.

_'Another way into the alley?'_ "What are you talking about? I kind of have to." You're trying to figure out his thought pattern but it must be flying over your head at this point. _'I don't have to get my second glove? Of course I do. It would be stupid to only wear one glove and I have to go through the alley. I can't just rappel down the wall'_ you tell yourself.

“No, I promise that you don't." Alright, what is he on about?

You narrow your eyes at him. "No, I really have to insist that I do, and if it gets any later I might lose my nerve," you tell him as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. It is private property and you've never been much of a rule-breaker, so of course you're nervous about climbing the fence or trying to picking the lock. All you need is for him to get out of your way for you to actually do it.

His eyes nearly bulge out of his head and he scans the roof quickly. "Wait! Surely you’ve got someone who’s thinking about you? Someone who would miss you?” he asks but you’re too dumbstruck with confusion to answer. _‘What the hell does he think he’s doing? Who does he think he is?’_ you ask yourself but shake your head to his question.

“Why does this even matter?" you whisper in annoyance before raising your voice, "Not in this country.” Your reply is slow and you see his eyes light up as he realizes you’re American after all this time talking to you.

“There are still people who would care about you, still think about you in the U.S. You wouldn’t want to worry them right?” _'What does this have to do with my glove? Is he the owner of the property?'_ Your heart beats faster with fright at the thought of getting kicked out.

“Wait, you’re not going to call the cops right? I definitely can’t get arrested because I don’t know what I’d do if I did-,” you stop as you realize all of this and shake your head to dispel the thoughts. It doesn't work because you're still visibly distressed. The greying man takes a slight step forward and puts a hand out as if to shake yours or to hold it. You’re still ten feet away at least so you find it odd.

“I won't call them, but let's chat, alright? Can you tell me your name? Let’s start with a name then, right.” It's like he's assuring himself. “You’ve got one of those don’t you?” he asks dumbly. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the way people here speak and all of their little mannerisms. He's probably baiting you but you totally fall for it anyway.

You narrow your eyes at him because this is starting to get ridiculous. “I’m y/n, I live here, and I don’t need the sass thank you very much,” you tell him but you don’t want to give away too much. The last thing you need is some kind of stalker.

He gives a small nervous yet relieved smile that you don't understand the meaning of. “I think that's a lovey name, y/n. Let’s take a second to talk somewhere else then, yeah? It’s a bit damp out here. It looks like it’ll rain soon,” he tries to small talk which surprises you greatly. No one here does small talk. It’s quite the rarity. In the U.S. you weren’t able to go an hour in the city without small talk. Even bumping into someone could potentially lead to you telling them your life story, but not here.

“I’m not leaving and I’m definitely not leaving with you.” Your tone is hard and combative, and you hope it’s enough to make him back off. This is where you live after all and he's blocking your only exit. He is making you so nervous, you take a step back toward the ledge. To your surprise, he does back off immediately and raises his hands gently in front of him.

“Alright, it’s alright. Please calm down, just relax,” he repeats until you’ve calmed down to his satisfaction. “I’m a doctor and I can help you if you’ll let me. You don't have to come with me by any means if you don't want to. I can see that you’re upset but that’s no reason to-,” you cut him off before he can finish.

“Josef Mengele was also a doctor but that doesn't mean I would blindly trust him. Why would I need a doctor anyway? I’m not sick.” 

His brow furrows and his lips press together tightly as if you're both confused at this point. “I'm sorry. Of course you’re not sick,” he agrees too quickly for your liking. “You see I’m not very good with heights and this building is awfully high up. I think it’d be better for both of us if we were on the ground.” You know that’s immediately a lie, so you call him out on it.

“Lair. Why do you think I need a doctor? Listen, dude, you’re making me really uncomfortable by blocking my exit and I don’t even know your name,” you realize with a bit of a start. You’ve been talking to a total stranger on a rooftop in another country and you have no idea who he is. "I've basically been confused for the entire conversation with you and why you came up here in the first place, so quit beating around the bush and spit it out."

The kind expression slowly fades until he’s all business and stern features. “I’m John, John Watson. I’m a doctor and I think you need help because pitching yourself off a roof is not a solution to your problems no matter how appealing it may seem at the time being.” The clipped tone gets your attention. It's like he's scolding you. And seriously? Jumping off a roof? You?

You can’t help it. The shock of his assumption is a little too much for you. It’s so out of left field and completely dead wrong you can't stop the smirk growing on your face. The laughter bubbles up hysterically in your throat before pouring out of your mouth, and once it starts, it feels impossible to stop. You try to silently mime that you’re sorry and that you’re trying to stop laughing. It gets to the point tears are streaming down your face and your stomach hurts but soon enough it begins to fade and you collect yourself.

“I’m sorry doc. I-I promise I’m not laughing at you, and suicide is really serious, but I think that we’ve had a really big misunderstanding here.” His head cocks to the side sharply as his lips form a terse line. It’s the classic ‘explain right this instant look’ that you’ve been getting from everyone here.

“You see I just dropped my glove down in the alley and that’s what I was upset about and was looking down at. Well, I should’ve started off by saying I’m not going to jump off the roof,” you assure him, but it doesn’t seem to take away his disbelief. “I thought you were saying there's another way to get it-you know what, never mind! You’re right then. Let’s get down from here and I can tell you the rest if you’d like. I’ll even let you psychoanalyze me if you want,” you concede.

Now it’s your turn to wait as he thinks over your offer. He gives a curt nod and moves toward the door where he holds it open for you with another expectant look. _‘Probably wanting to keep an eye on me’_ you understand. You give the roof another once over to make sure nothing else has been dropped and follow him down the stairs to the street level.

“Come with me this way,” he instructs. There’s a split second you think about not going with him but you did promise after all. You walk for a block until he stops in front of a door reading 221B.

“Is this your apartment?” you ask before stepping inside the main hallway.

“Yes. Most shops are closing for the night so I guess a house-call is necessary. Fair warning though I have a flatmate, but he shouldn’t be here now or get in our way,” he informs you as he leads you up a set of narrow stairs. “Tea?” he offers but you see that no matter your answer you're getting tea since he placed two mugs out.

“I guess so,” you mutter under your breath. A few quiet minutes go by as you take in the odd décor of the place. The wallpaper is busy along with mismatched furniture, gadgets and knickknacks draw your attention back and forth until a mug blocks your vision.

“So, start from the beginning then,” he prompts stiffly. It’s a clinical voice and as you tell him your story you watch his expression and his eyes. You notice they never leave your face, always looking for a lie, always trying to take you in.

“-And that’s how we got to meet each other. Like I said before, a big misunderstanding,” you finish and smile into the mug. He looks as dumbstruck as he did on the roof as he realizes how you both were taking different meanings from the conversation. 

“I’ll say,” John scoffs and you can’t help but scoff and laugh along with him. "I do have to be thorough for my sake if only to make sure you're safe." You nod in understanding. "Have you felt down or depressed recently?" You shake your head no. "Have you had suicidal thoughts or tendencies?" You shake your head no again and smile until the front door to the building shuts loudly and footsteps pound the steps. John sighs heavily so you look towards him with silent questions. “I’m sorry in advance.”

You don’t have time to ask why when the door flies open, and you’re certainly not expecting this Ichabod Crane looking character with cheekbones that could cut diamonds to walk in. He looks at you for five seconds before moving through the apartment like a little hurricane. “She doesn’t have a case so why is she here?” he demands and you didn’t expect his voice to be so low either. He makes you want to sink into the chair and possibly fall through the floorboards. He looks at you again and ‘tsks’ his tongue.

“Two mugs but not a date, not John’s type, so business. Medical journal on the table indicates the same, but the body posture indicates the opposite or not anymore. So, I can’t conclude as to why you’re still here.” It takes you a second to realize that he’s now talking to you after switching between you and John so fast it made your head spin.

You say the first thing that comes to mind. “Yikes.” This one word makes his face crumple in what you comprehend as disdain and shock before he’s turning to John who seems unphased by all of this.

“Really? An American John? Surely you’d have better judgment by now,” he ‘tsks’ again before moving himself through the doorway of the kitchen and leaves you and John alone again.

“Wha-I don-,” you stop yourself before you make a fool of yourself more than you already have. You set your tea down on an end table and face John again. He seems bemused by everything that just happened as though silently saying ‘it happens all the time, it’s nothing new’. “Well, now that you know it’s a misunderstanding I should get going. I do have to find a way to break into that alley and get my glove, after all. Then I should stop taking things to the damn roof,” you berate yourself at the end.

He stands as you do, handing you your coat and leading you to the small landing outside the apartment. “Here,” he starts as he hands you a small white card with the script neatly reading ‘Dr. John Watson, M.D.’ along with a business line at the bottom. “If there is a time it’s no longer a misunderstanding or if you need help with anything, don't hesitate to give a ring.”

You smile at him for caring so much. You're not sure whether someone else would have left you up there regardless of what they thought. “Don’t worry, I will.”

The quiet moment is broken as glass shatters and his roommate yells, “John what did you do with the brain and the rest of the skin? It was here when I left!”

You give him one last smile and a slight nod. “Have a nice night Dr. Watson,” you wish as more crashes and clangs come from the apartment and you let yourself out into the rainy street once again.


End file.
